Books that sublime hearts and widen thoughts.
Kenned I can sail across seas of ideas. I can not think about my existence, I mean, my intellectual existence without living in a domain of books. A few years I cultivated on farms, today I cultivate ideas cerebrally. This is a totally difference experience. I could not come across you if I did not cultivate ideas and only confined myself to cultivating crops.
Today as a writer I cultivate images and metaphors. Literature is an image of truth. Literature is something that runs behind life, the way a shadow follows a physique.
To be continued .....
Is there no art in nature?
Art is in nature; for natural beings, be they primitive human beings or other wild creatures knew forms of art. Art is as natural as the color of a rose is natural, the flow of a river is natural and the song of a cuckoo is natural. You many not notice in the song of a cuckoo elements of naturalness, and to understand the depth of it, to the very melody of it you need the ear of a poet. Or else it is simply a noise and nothing else.
Now I will show you perfection in their arts. If you were from a village you could have seen hanging nests of birds. I have seen plenty. When I was a kid and worked on farms I used to stop and watch hanging nests in trees. I became of a captive of the beauty of what I saw.
See the web of a spider and see the intricacy it uses to weave it.
Nature is perfect and an art is a copy of that perfection.
What we call art is the progression thru eons.
speaking of the unconscious
We all know in point of fact our minds have diffeent layers and Freud did the marvelous job indeed and he was the first one, maybe there others previous to him, to analyze human minds and their different layers so profoundly and scientifically.
In fact literature must be inspired by what is within, something lying ultold for a variety of reasons, like taboos and moral censorships in a particular social setting. Mostly all we do is we screen and filter all that wells up within the mind and things can not come spontaneously. You may love someone secretly and which is biologically justifiable and religiously or culturally tabooed. That desire lays seated there indefinitely.
A writer if he is bold enough must express something like that. A man may have , any morally right or so called men of dignity and disciplines may have something gin hiding, some urged pushed down.
Therefore writing must be frank and open.
There were many writers who emboldened themselves to express things that I said yet few could do fully and daringly.